


the open sky (is mine tonight)

by weatheredlaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-17
Updated: 2011-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a wedding planner in San Francisco who doesn’t have the time or the energy for a relationship right now. After an accident introduces him to the charming pediatrician Dean Winchester, he thinks that might change. Unfortunately, Dean is engaged to Castiel’s new favorite client, Anna Milton, and it’s suddenly a game of tug-o-war between what Castiel wants and what Castiel needs — but as he comes to find out, often times those things are exactly the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the open sky (is mine tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my baby. It's based alternatively loosely and closely on "The Wedding Planner". Thank you to everyone who has read this story on livejournal and provided such stellar feedback.

Today is the last day Castiel will ever have to look at Lisa Braeden. After today, he will never have to listen to her debate with herself over lilies or roses. He will never have to call her annoyingly Midwestern baker ever again. He will never hear the tell—tale noise of her wooden clogs on the cherry wood floors of his office and he will delete her from his phone and have his assistant take a memo and throw it away, every time she calls. Because Lisa Braeden is the client from hell.

She's nice enough, really. There's nothing on earth worse than a distraught and picky bride who's a heinous awful bitch — but as nice as Lisa is, Castiel can't help but thinking she might be punishment for all the terrible things he's done for the last thirty years. Like only calling his mother after she leaves seventeen nasty voice mails once every four months, or cheating on the only guy who would have anything to do with him in college or fucking majoring in business and graduating with eighty three other soulless bastards. Lisa is punishment for moving across the country to avoid his brothers and throwing all their postcards and letters in the mail and deleting their messages from his answering machine before he even knows what they want.

Lisa is all the bad karma Castiel's collected over the years rolled into a stressed out, indecisive, anal retentive single mom turned first—time bride with a snot nosed brat for a kid and absolutely no taste in flower arrangements. He takes it all in stride and promises God, Yahweh, Allah and Buddha that, after this, he'll try to be nicer. He'll try to let old ladies cut in front of him at the grocery store and he'll try to hold the elevator for his neighbors and not lose his patience with the new barrista at the Starbucks across the street and recycle all his soda cans. Really, he will. If he can just get through this reception without a single thing going wrong, then he will do all of this and baptize his first born, after selling his soul to the devil — if only every single thing will go right and Lisa Braeden—Swanson will never _ever_ call him again.

"Cas!" As much as he just wants this to be over, he can't help but think that Lisa really _does_ look happy and beautiful as she comes trotting toward him, barefoot and tipsy, pulling her dress off the ground and grabbing his hand. "I want you to meet some friends of mine."

(Friends: a noun; meaning people who take up time and energy. See also, "referrals".)

Friends are the reason Cas even bothers to sit through receptions. Because friends mean other pushy, indecisive women clamoring to tie the knot, get hitched, settle down — the works. These moments are like Christmas. Because like any professional, Castiel knows how fucking good he is at this job. He knows that he's the best and he knows that every single time he smiles and shrugs his shoulders when they compliment him on a job well done that he has them: hook, line, and sinker. Done. Finished. His. And right now, Anna Milton is putty in the palm of his hand.

Anna knows Lisa's cousin who was her roommate who introduced her to a friend who had a brother who was probably made of the stuff heaven is made from because he's so fucking _perfect_ that Anna fell head over heels and knew they were going to get married after their second date. Castiel doesn't actually _care_ , but he asks what Mr. Perfect does and nearly cries when he finds out he's a doctor. He hands her a card and gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Anything you want, I'll be able to do. Promise." Anna's eyes practically roll into the back of her head as she thanks him until she's nearly blue in the face. It takes every excuse he has to finally get away from her and escape Lisa's drunken hugs and professions of love and worship.

In this world, Castiel is a god. He likes that.

Someone's left a flyer beneath the windshield wiper of his car advertising a single's mixer. Cas crumples it up and tosses it into the passenger seat as he gets in, remembering his promise to the deities. From his seat, he can see Lisa through the bay window of the reception hall, one arm wrapped around her husband, the other around her surly child. And, for a moment, Castiel remembers that there's a small part of him that doesn't just do this for money or because it's a fantastic ego boost. He remembers that rush of making someone the happiest they've ever been in their entire life.

Sometimes, he's so sentimental he could fucking puke.

  
— — —

  
"Weddings by Novak, please hold. Weddings by Novak, can you hold? _Cas_." Chuck presses the hold button, _hard_ , and hisses again. "Your mother left four voice mails, two of which include all the things she'll do to my first born if you don't call her, so for mine and Becky's sake, please answer your fucking phone. Weddings by Novak, thank you for holding." Cas takes the memo's from Chuck's hand and flips through them. On a good day, only half of his messages will be from his mother. She's only left four, but then again, it's only eleven in the morning, and really, she's just getting started. Chuck passes him one more before he heads into his office. A phone number for Anna Milton.

Anna is far more pleasant to talk with when she's sober, which is a godsend, because Cas is getting a headache. She only has time to talk for a few minutes because she's supposed to go to lunch with her fiancé today and Mr. ( _doctor_ ) Perfect only has clinic today and can only spare thirty minutes for lunch so she'd just like to tell him she has her venue and colors selected already, so there's nothing to worry about there.

"We were thinking a classic three—tier vanilla cake, I think."

"Always a good choice."

"And we'd like the have the service be nondenominational as well. Outside, I think. It's spring and it's beautiful and I just don't want to be stuffed into a church, you know?"

"Understandable." He makes a list, which is really just a copy of about a hundred other lists he's made, of everything Anna wants and then makes small predictions about what she'll tell him later after she hangs up to have lunch with her half—angel fiancé.

What makes Cas so fucking _good_ at what he does is that he lets every bride—to—be think that what they want is unique. What they want in a wedding has never been done before and he's the only one who can do it, when the truth is that Anna is just like six dozen other brides he's worked for over the past five years. She'll pick the same cake as four other women did last month and she'll want the same flowers and the same songs and the same caterer. And Cas will write everything down because he wants her to know that he's, of course, never done _this_ before and he wants to get every detail perfect. Cas is the best at this job because he knows what they want before they do because he's seen it all before. But he can make them feel like the special and unique snowflake they think they are and still get paid when it's all said and done.

"Your mother's on the phone again." Chuck's voice sounds over the intercom, creating an annoying echo, because Cas can hear him talking from the front, too.

"Take a message."

"You owe me the kidney she'll be coming to my house to remove."

"Take a message and send me the bill." With a click that even sounds angry, Chuck hangs up. He can hear him repeating the message, loud and vindictive. He even brings it back into Cas's office and sets it down on his calendar with purpose. "Really, Chuck?"

"I'm changing our number."

"No, you're not."

"Then _call_ her."

"I called her in February."

"December. You called her last in _December_."

"It's a new year. She can wait a while."

"It's May. It's almost half—over. Pick up the phone and call her."

"Chuck, do you call her your mother very often?"

"My mother lives with me and you know that. Call this woman now, or I will walk out."

"No, you won't." With one final glare, Chuck turns on his heel and walks from the room, returning to his desk and typing furiously. He's been writing a novel for four years now, and hasn't gotten any closer to finishing it since he decided to name the antagonist Gabriel, after Cas's brother. Annoyed, Cas gets up and shuts and locks the door, partly because the furious clacking means that Chuck had decided to torture and possibly kill his Castiel—inspired character, and partly because he doesn't want Chuck to hear him talking to his mother. He has a reputation to maintain.

She picks up on the fourth ring because she's a bitch and likes to toy with her childrens' emotions.

"I'm busy," Marie snaps, but Cas can hear the ice clinking in her glass and knows for a fact that his mother hasn't been "busy" since she worked at a canoe rental her freshman year of college. "What do you want?"

"Please stop threatening my office assistant. He's a nice kid."

"I did no such thing."

"Right. We'll play pretend, but please. Stop."

"You could _call_."

"But you're so _busy_ , mother."

"Yes, well, you just have bad timing."

"Was there something you wanted?"

"Michael wants to get married."

"Again?"

"Yes, Castiel. Again."

"To who."

"I have no idea. Some young thing he met on a dig in Yemen."

"Spectacular. Have him call me when he decides that she's a bigger whore than his last lay."

"I'll pass along the sentiment."

"Please, do."

"When are you coming to see me?"

"Probably never, so don't get your hopes up."

"If I came to San Francisco, would you even come and meet me at the airport?"

"Maybe. If I was out."

"I'll let Chuck know if I'll be coming."

"Again, I ask, please stop threatening him. He's married to a sweet girl."

"I'll do my best. Love you, dear."

"Love you, too."

That's the fucked up thing about all this. In the end, the only person Cas has ever really loved in his family has been his mother, the one who's always been the most frustrating, the most obnoxious, the one who's always made him the angriest.

She told him once, when he was young and in college and falling in love, that if he ever met someone he could never get mad at, or could never find anything wrong with, to run like hell in the other direction.

"Love, honey, is about clawing someone's face off trying to get to know them. You'll never love anyone if you can't fight 'em first."

  
— — —

  
Cas's favorite restaurant is run by a sarcastic Bristish asshole named Crowley. And because he and Cas have the same taste in ties, they get along pretty well. Every few days, Cas sits outside on the cafe patio for lunch and he and Crowley silently judge the other patrons while discussing the finer points of owning a small business in San Francisco. Crowley comes from a big family, lots of brothers and sisters and a historically absentee father whom he always describes as a bit of a satanic ass with no class and no sense of responsibility. He apparently was hit by a bus in '95. No one was sad to see him go.

"Here's to Lisa. May this marriage go better than her last."

"She was never married."

"Oh! So the boy's a bastard then."

"Stop projecting onto twelve year olds. It's pathetic." Crowley cackles because laughter is beyond him and they toast to Lisa's fine departure. "She referred a friend."

"Fantastic."

"Apparently she's engaged to a marble statue. He's some kind of perfect human being, but I haven't met him yet. I almost don't want to."

"It would be hard, I think, to fuck a marble statue."

"You're hilarious, really."

"And you're being very pissy today. We need to get you laid."

"That's your answer to everything," Cas snaps, because it's true. Crowley thinks about three things: money, wine, and sex. After an hour, Crowley waves him along, telling him to take the day off and find something fun to do. Cas scowls and pays for his wine, mentally going over everything he has to do for the rest of the afternoon in his head.

That's probably why he's not paying attention while he's crossing the street. And _that's_ probably why a taxi slams on its breaks and still manages to hit him, sending Cas rolling over the hood and back onto the street.

"Fuckin' idiot!" the man yells before driving on. Cas is still in the middle of the street, cars breaking and honking behind him, when the face of what has to be some kind of ethereal half—human _god_ floats into his line of vision, his face taut with concern.

"Hey man, you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"My name is Dean Winchester. I'm a doctor. I'm gonna get you outta here and somewhere else so I can take a look at you, okay? Just don't _move_ too much. Can you feel everything, yes or no?"

"S'fine."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"Okay. You're fine. Up we get." He heaves Cas from the pavement and holds up a hand to the block of impatient drivers. "Sorry folks! Everything's just fine. Come on, you. Let's get you inside before you cause more trouble." Cas would snap at him if he wasn't a) afraid he'd scare him away, and b) was able to form complete sentences. His legs are hot and trembling from the pain and the headache he's been on the edge of all day suddenly explodes when Dean brings him inside and into a room filled with fluorescent lighting. "What's your name?"

"Castiel."

"No really."

"No. _Really._ Castiel." Dean looks up from a jar of cotton balls and smirks. "Really."

"Well, it's not the weirdest I've heard. Just weird enough to be fake. Now hold still." Cas narrows his eyes as a burning sensation spreads over his face. He grits his teeth while Dean dabs at the scrapes he didn't know he had on the side of his head. "Sorry." Cas raises an eyebrow, eliciting a chuckle from Dean. "You probably shouldn't walk out in front of a taxi in San Francisco. Or anywhere, for that matter."

"I was...distracted."

"Obviously." He tosses the cotton ball into the trash and pulls off his gloves with a rather arousing snap. Cas swallows. "Okay. Finished."

"Is there a fee?" Cas asks, fishing in his pocket for his wallet.

"Seriously? Don't worry about it. Hey—" He holds up a hand as Cas tries to open his wallet. " _Really_. It's fine."

"You have to let me do something."

"It'll be enough knowing you promise not to walk in front of moving traffic again."

"Please," Cas insists. "Let me buy you dinner or...or something." He wants to _hit_ himself with how suggestive he sounds. Not that he would mind, really. Looking Dean up and down, he _knows_ that this guy is his type, without a doubt. Everything about him screams _fuck me_ and Cas would only be too happy to oblige. But right now, he has sixteen phone calls to make and a wedding to plan. He can't _have sex_ right now. He shouldn't even buy Dean dinner. But the doctor looks at his shoes and then back up and nods.

"Alright. Sure. You can buy me dinner."

  
— — —

  
Cas leaves Chuck with strict orders to close early and leave all his memos on his desk and to not, under penalty of death or unemployment, ask stupid questions.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to hear them."

"No, _why_ are we closing early."

"I got hit by a taxi cab."

"You _what?_ "

"You heard me. Now turn the phones over to message and go home. Say hi to Becky for me."

"What? I — you — _are you okay?_ "

"I'm fine."

"But... _you got hit by a car_."

"Technically, I was bumped by a car. I walked in front of it." Chuck doesn't say anything. "Are we clear?"

"Close down early, no stupid questions. Fine." He hangs up with an angry _click_.

"Sounds like a keeper," Dean says, grinning from across the counter. They're in the waiting room of his clinic, which is filled with toys and Pixar movie posters and the sounds of what looks like _Monster's Inc._ coming from a tv in the corner. A tiny nurse turns it off before scooping up the toys into a basket and taking them into a back room.

"He does what he's supposed to do."

"Gimme one sec, I gotta make sure this kid gets into the OR before he has another seizure. Jesus." Cas nods, mostly because his equivalent of Dean's biggest worry is whether or not the caterer is going to show up with fish or chicken and if it's all going to be cooked properly. He stares at a _Toy Story 2_ poster until Dean sets the board down and smiles. "Done. Let's blow this place. I'm starved. Night, ladies and gents!" He waves to his flock of nurses shutting the place down before ushering Cas out the door. "I don't know about you, but I would _kill_ for a burger right now. Hell, I'd kill for a burger every day, but still. Starved."

Cas isn't sure if all this is some kind of dream or if Dean is just being obnoxiously nice to him because he thinks he's some kind of savant that walks in front of mid—day traffic. Either way, about an hour later, he's watching Dean wipe his mouth with a napkin after taking the first bite into an enormous bacon and avocado cheeseburger, sighing with pleasure. It should be _illegal_ to eat like that. Fucking _illegal._

"What got you into pediatrics?"

"My old man. He was a cardiologist before he retired last year. Always pushed me toward med school. And you always figure out what you want to do when you get there, you know? I wanted to work with kids. It was my favorite part. I think the only other thing I liked just as much was urology, and that was because the guy I worked under was just fantastic. Really awesome doctor. I have _never_ met anyone as excited about fucking urology as this guy." Cas laughs, loud and honest. He doesn't do it often — the only person he really ever laughs around is Crowley, and sometimes Chuck. But fake laughter he can do. Dean smiles and Cas feels a blush creeping over his neck. He hides behind his glass of lemonade. "What about you? What do you do?"

"I plan weddings."

"No shit!"

"Mmm."

"How's that?"

"It has its moments."

"Can I ask what got you into _wedding_ planning?" Dean is still smiling and Cas can't help but tell him almost everything. He tells him about his mother and father's parties and how they were always a spectacle, but no one could put on a better banquet than his mother. She had an inherent talent for knowing where people should sit and what color the tablecloth's should be and what she should wear and how she should walk. She knew what everyone would eat and what no one would touch, but she always knew that her husband's work buddies would be the only ones to eat steak, never fish, and all her book club girls would be the only ones to eat lemon chicken, but never anything with peppers. Marie's parties were perfect and she taught Castiel everything he knew.

"Then I went to business school. They had a program on event planning, but it was child's play, you know? I knew everything already. I could have taught the classes. When I got out, my brother Michael gave me some startup money and that was that. I paid him back within two years."

"So you're successful."

"Very."

"Feels good?" Cas nods. "Why do you do it?"

"It's just...a part of me. Meticulous planning is in my blood, I guess you could say."

"Rare blood type."

"I suppose so." Dean licks a line of stray juice from the burger off his hand and Cas nearly loses his shit. He hasn't flirted and been flirted with this hard in years, and it feels good. There's a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach and it hasn't been there in years, not since...not since the _last_ time.

Dean tries to pay the bill but Cas is faster, whipping it from under his fingers and slipping his credit card in before Dean can even open his wallet. "I owe you this."

"Please, I'm not _that_ cheap." Cas's face falls. "I'm kidding. I just didn't want you to think you _actually_ owed me something. Because you don't. At all." Cas nods as they get up. Cas confesses he hardly drives and he'll take the cable home, but Dean insists on driving him. "Seriously, not a big deal. No debt, okay? All cleared. This is just a friend driving another friend home."

"I appreciate it, but—" Cas freezes at the site of Dean's car. It's a '67 _Impala._ A fucking _Impala._ "Son of a _bitch_ ," he murmurs, not wanting to even _breathe_ on it. Dean laughs. "What in the hell?"

"It was my dad's car. She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"She's nicer inside." Dean opens the door and taps the upholstery, while Cas imagines all the sordid and awful things he could possibly do to Dean inside of this car. He maintains the last few shreds of his dignity, however, and manages to settling himself in the front seat without flinging himself in front of moving traffic again. He has a feeling Dean wouldn't be so forgiving the second time around.

As much as he wants to spend the rest of his _life_ sitting in this car, watching Dean's fingers curl around the steering wheel, he's starting to get exhausted. But just when half his brain is about to shut down, Dean slams on the breaks and pulls onto the side of the road. " _What?_ What happened?"

"Look!" Dean's shaking his shoulder and getting out of the car, staring at the sky. "I'll be damned." Annoyed, Cas gets out of the car, but stops short when he looks up and sees what Dean sees:

Shooting stars, peppering the sky and illuminating every dark corner around them. Cas stares, mouth open in awe. He hasn't seen shooting stars since...since he was at least fourteen. No, thirteen. He was thirteen and he and Michael and Gabriel weren't fighting and everyone was inside drinking and listening to their father tell another golf joke. Marie had kicked the kids outside and warned the older boys that if they tried to drown Gabriel, again, she'd skin them both alive. They spent the evening daring Gabe to mix pop rocks and coke until he vomited in the rose bushes. He was leaning over the neighbor's fence retching and threatening to tell when everything got quiet and that same soft glow fell over the yard.

"Look," Michael whispered, pulling Gabe from the fence and pointing up. They stared, fascinated, as the sky seemed to be falling around them, like the stars had shattered and were settling onto the earth. No one said anything. It was the longest the boys had ever gone without speaking to one another. And when it was all over, no one had the heart to tease Gabriel or tattle or even really move. They just sat, staring at the sky, hoping it would happen again.

"Look," Dean whispers, and Cas stares at him, wanting and wishing and _needing_ more than he ever has before. He's lonely. He's so fucking _lonely_ he could throw himself off a building, but instead he's watching Dean watch the sky and wondering what it would be like just to lean against his shoulder and feel an arm around him and watch the sky come tumbling down. Dean finally looks at him and tilts his head, watching Cas with mild fascination. "You're strange, you know that?"

"I've been told." And if Cas has ever felt like there is a perfect moment to kiss someone, then this is it. He leans forward expectantly, because everything about right now tells him that there are some things that just happen naturally and in the right order. Dean's leaning, too, and everything is about to happen just the way it should, for once in his life, and Cas is thanking all those gods again for shooting fucking stars —

"I, uh...I think I should just...take you home."

A long time ago, Cas might have thrown a fit. He might have grabbed Dean and kissed him anyway, just to get what he wanted. A long time ago, he might have spat, "Fuck you," and walked home. But today, he nods. He can't even feel his head moving, but he knows he's nodding. He nods and gets back into the car and Dean drives him home, clapping him on the shoulder and telling him to watch for taxi cabs. "And hey, if you need anything, you know where I work. We...we should do this again."

"Oh. Really?" Cas has one hand on the door and the other in his pocket, gripping his keys.

"Yeah. We should. I'm serious."

"I...I'd like that. Uh...here." He pulls a card out of his pocket. "It's my card, I know. But you can call." Dean takes it with a smile and as Cas watches him drive off, he doesn't feel like the night's gone too badly. If anything, he feels like, maybe, it was the best date he's been on in months. He looks only once at the bruises dotting his hip, but thinks mostly of Dean for the rest of the evening, not even bothering to feel guilty about it. He wonders if it would be wrong to think about him that way, but before he can get into a moral dilemma with his hornier self, he's unconscious and dreamless.

  
— — —

  
Cas isn't surprised that Becky is waiting with bagels and coffee at the office the next morning. She dotes in him like a mother hen, especially now that she's nearly six months pregnant and already looking like she's going to pop. She's too small for childbirth.

"They were out of poppy seed bagels, so I got the onion ones you like." She comes into his office and shuts the door on a scowling Chuck, who's been on the phone with Anna's caterer since nine. "Chuck told me you walked in front of a taxi. I was a little worried."

"I'm fine, Becky."

"Mmmm. So what's his name?"

"Hmm?" Cas stuffs an onion bagel with chive spread on it into his mouth, eyes opening wide. He can feel the back of his neck flushing and Becky laughs. She's one of the few human beings that Cas can actually smile around, now that he thinks about it. He adds her to his list because, really, he likes Becky, even if she's a tad bit touched in the head.

"You only shut everything down when there's a possibility that you might get laid. It's kind of pathetic." Cas shrugs, not having the strength to argue. "So what's his name?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"You didn't, did you?"

"No. We watched shooting stars and almost shared a moonlight kiss."

"You're shameless."

"That was actually the truth." He fixes her with a stare and Becky raises an eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Wow. Casanova."

"Funny."

"But really, were you expecting to get laid?"

"Not really. I don't think I could physically do much _beyond_ achieving an erection. Forget about maintaining it."

" _I know you're talking to my wife about sex, Cas. Stop it. Now._ "

"I should probably go make sure he doesn't combust before I go get a checkup. Be careful, okay? No more midday traffic romps. Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"Good." Becky leans forward and places a quick kiss on his forehead. "Be good." She opens the door to find an irked and angry Chuck loitering outside, who melts when she ruffles his hair. "Don't be too hard on him. He owns you, honey."

"I know. Call me when you're done." Sighing, Chuck collapses into one of the chairs in front of Cas's desk and rubs his eyes. "You're having lunch with Anna today. And tomorrow night, you're meeting the groom."

"I'll try to contain my excitement."

"Caruso's."

"I hate Italian."

"It's her favorite. Write that down."

At noon, Cas walks the four block to Caruso's, gazing longingly at Crowley's patio and considering stopping in for a quick glass of wine as he waits to cross the street. But he's late, and it'd be bad form to keep Anna waiting for their first meeting, so he walks on, spotting her shock of red hair from several feet away. She has all the grace of a lady in waiting, Cas thinks, and the taste of one, too. So much so he forgets that she's actually a lawyer. She's dressed in a dark skirt and soft blue collared shirt, and if there's one thing Cas appreciates in a client, it's good taste. Clothes, flowers, wine, everything. Anna may want the same things as half a dozen other women he's helped, but she's certainly one of his classiest clients he can remember having in a long time.

"If you like lamb, they have the best."

"I adore lamb."

"Is it a wedding food?"

"It can be. The sky's the limit, I can promise you that."

"I'll hold you to it."

She's organized, he'll give her that. Anna pulls out a binder and shows him photos of her dress and clippings from some magazines she stole from the library. ("I refuse to subscribe. I absolutely refuse.") Her favorite color is blue and she hates roses and daisy's and baby's breath and was hoping to just have white flower arrangements. ("White on white. Tacky? No? I don't know.") Cas nearly cries. She's perfect. If he weren't gay, he'd propose.

"I love blue. But it's outside. Blue's so...cold. I don't know, I was thinking yellow," she says, the same time Cas does. Anna covers his hand with hers. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Hiding in my office, wondering the same thing about you." She laughs and orders a bottle of wine, which is disgustingly good enough to make Cas suggest she serve it at the wedding, and he _never_ does that. At this point, he has so much undying faith in whoever Anna chose to say yes to, he's actually looking forward to meeting Dr. Perfect tomorrow evening.

"He's dying to meet you, honestly. You'll hate him, I know it, he has no taste at all, but he says yes to everything, I promise."

"My favorite answer."

"Seven tomorrow night at my parent's house. They're having a shindig and want to meet you. Plus my mother wants to try and trick you into planning one of her charity dinners. Say no. Please, whatever you do, _say no_."

"I promise, I won't even consider it."

"You're a godsend, honestly. Thank you for lunch."

"I'll call your caterer about the lamb."

"It's like we were made for one another," she says, and Cas lets her hug him, because it feels good and she's made of all the perfect things he can think of. For the first time since he looked at the stars the night before, he's really and honestly _happy_. This is a marriage he might like to know more about. People he might want to see someday and know how everything turned out. He wants Anna and her husband to be happy because they deserve it. They really, _really_ do.

  
— — —

  
In Castiel's first memory, he's sitting in the middle of the dining room table, clutching a wine glass in his grubby hand. Something tells him that this thing he's holding is to be handled carefully, like the way his mother sets him carefully in his bed every night. He's almost four, and the memory is faded now, but he remembers clutching the wine glass like air and the smile on Marie's as she takes it from his sticky hands and wipes it down.

"Someday you'll be mama's assistant, won't you honey?" She's almost eight months pregnant, bulbous and beautiful to Cas, glowing in a way that he always suspected the others couldn't see. Michael swings his feet back and forth while perched on the edge of the bar stool in the kitchen, laughing.

"Cas can't be your assistant mom. He's a _baby_."

"Well, someday he'll be all grown up and he can help me make things beautiful. We'll make people happy together, won't we Cas?" Cas remembers nodding, because nothing then could have made him happier but being with her and around all the beautiful things she did. Michael scoffs and goes back to his room to watch tv and ignore them, while Cas watches his mother with a kind of reverence it will take him many years to regain.

  
— — —

  
Chuck is happy that Cas is happy. Really, he's a bit confused, but if anything, he's happy. He knows about Dean and the stars and the almost kiss because Becky, while endearing and lovely in her own special way, is a fucking loudmouth and doesn't know how to keep anything Cas tells her a secret. He'd long ago stopped telling her things he didn't want Chuck to know because, without a doubt, she'd end up telling him sometime after, ending in only another argument between Cas and his assistant and another round of "will—they—won't—they—quit—or—fire." So Cas keeps most things on the down—low.

But Chuck knows and Chuck is happy, winking at him every once in a while and dropping not—so—subtle hints that he should ask Anna if he can bring a date to this dinner.

"Every moment I spend with Anna is about _Anna_ ," Cas reminds him for the fiftieth, maybe fifty—first, time. "Now stop hiding my blue tie and let me wear it or I will strangle you with the black one." Chuck hands over the blue silk tie he'd been hiding because he was convinced the black tie would make him seem more professional and mysterious. Cas pointed out that he didn't have to look more professional because Anna was already convince he was the epitome of class, taste, and success. The mysterious thing he could do on his own.

"I promise I won't tell Becky you still wear that God—awful coat."

"Becky is hormonally imbalanced. I don't really care what she thinks."

"You care."

"Not when it comes to this coat. Go home, Chuck. Take care of your wife. And don't tell her about the coat," he adds, narrowing his eyes as Chuck tugs on his own jacket and begins turning out the lights.

"Whatever. Just get a little tipsy for me tonight, will you?"

"Have a good night, Chuck."

"Have a better one." Cas lets Chuck leave first and then locks the building behind him. There's a certain feeling he gets when the door clicks shut and everything fits right into place, like it's all been working out too well for him over the years. Then he remembers that half the time he's miserable and alone and realizes that he's paid the price. Maybe even two—fold. But he's certainly paid it.

Anna's parents live outside the city, in one of those mountainside neighborhood that Cas has always despised. He's fairly sure his own father moved out into a neighborhood like this and things his father did don't particularly bode well with Cas. His father's decisions have always compromised Cas's list of "things I will never do, under any circumstance whatsoever." It's a good list to live by. The cab driver makes a snide comment about all the rich bastards living alongside one another on the side of a mountain, Cas tunes him out after he starts talking about global warming and government spending. If he ever gave off the impression he gave a shit, he's certainly not doing it anymore. The driver gets the picture and they ride in silence. Cas tips him well as a thank you and the driver looks less like he might back in Cas's kneecaps as he tries to get out of the driveway.

Of course, once he's actually ringing the doorbell, he's starting to wish someone _had_ bashed in his kneecaps. He can hear the party and if he can hear it, then it's actually real and that means that he's going to actually have to do this and if there's one thing Cas doesn't like doing, it's _actually_ doing anything, because empty promises sit better on his conscience than obligations he has to fulfill and —

"Thank. _God_. You're here." Anna opens the door and drags him inside. "I am drowning in ignorant snobs. You have _got_ to help me."

"I see very little hope for either of us."

"Look. I get you, you get me—" (this is something that Cas highly doubts, despite their friendship) "—so let's just hold onto one another and hope for the best. And avoid my mother. If you can. She has this _thing_ for you and, honestly, it's scaring me. You should watch out for my cousin, too, if you can." Cas maintains his blank look. "You're a wedding planner and you aren't married. My mother is now morally and psychotically obligated to introduce you to every single bachelorette in the family."

"Does your mother know I'm gay?" he asks, almost jokingly. But Anna stops, taking in this new information, processing it, and frowning.

"Don't tell her that. Please. I...I'm sorry. I mean, it's nothing to me, I don't mind at all. But—"

"Really, I understand."

"It's a sensitive issue. I'll...I'll tell you about it later." Cas nods, because he wants to know, really, and he wants to understand, because there's something about Anna that he can't quite place. He's had friends, he knows what it's like, but there are so few people he actually _wants_ to care about that the feeling is just new. Anna finally smiles and the tension in Cas's chest is released. "I really am sorry."

"It's not a problem. I can keep under the radar." Anna wraps him in a hug that's just a bit too tight, but he lets it happen. "Ready to do it?"

"No, but okay." She links her arm through his and leads him into the living room. There aren't as many people as Cas thought there'd be. It's a small family, really, but they're all drunk and loud and having too much fun, things Cas feeds off of. He's hoping to catch another referral tonight, if he's lucky. But then, if he can hardly be himself around Anna's mother, who knows what the rest of her drunken relatives will be like. He's considering the idea when he's suddenly accosted by a woman in a red dress wearing so much jewelry she could sink an aircraft carrier.

" _You_ must be Castiel. Anna's told me obnoxiously _little_ about you, so you'll have to do everyone a favor and elaborate on yourself. I'm Donna."

"Mrs. Milton, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"And _you_! Anna's told us so much about your ideas and, of course, I looked you up _right_ away and when she told me you'd done Lisa's wedding I just couldn't say enough good things about you to my good friend Jean. She's getting married for a third time, it's a shit show all around, if you ask me—"

" _Mother._ Can we not do this? Cas has to meet Dean."

"Of course."

"Dean?" The name, of course, sends Cas back two nights and an oblivion ago and he feels lightheaded and perfect. Of course she'd be marrying a Dean. Of course. Cas thinks back to _his_ Dean and wonders when he became so fucking clingy. Anna pries her mother away from him and pulls them into a corner.

"She's a monster. I love her, but she's a monster. Especially after four glasses of _whatever_ they're drinking."

"I won't have any."

"Good idea." She straightens up. "He's around here somewhere, probably being ripped to pieces by my uncle Luke. I bring a doctor into the family and all the hypochondriacs come out of the woodwork." Cas nods, understanding. Michael married a nurse the first time around and Cas has always suspected that it didn't last because their aunts wouldn't stop calling her at all hours of the day, asking about strange red spots and weird, mutant headaches. "I'll bring him to you. Don't move and don't make eye contact." She vanishes into a group of her relatives while Cas feels awkward and rude for still wearing his coat. He busies himself with taking it off, trying not to look anyone in the room directly in the eye. It's easier than it looks and it's why he's not really paying attention when Anna comes back, pulling her fiancé behind her.

"Cas! This is Dean. Dean, this is Cas!" Cas looks up and then back down as quickly as he can, trying to sort his thoughts. There's a sort of clamp growing over his chest, pressing down on his lungs and trying to kill him.

He really, _really_ wishes the driver had tried to back into his knees. He wishes it desperately.

"Dean Winchester."

"We...ah, yes. I know. We, uh, we met."

"What?" Anna looks back and forth and Dean's smile widens into a rather psychotic grin.

"Son of a bitch! We did! This is that guy I told you about! The one who walked in front of the cab!"

"And you didn't mention that it was our _wedding planner_ because?"

"Because I didn't know!" And Dean looks at Cas with eyes that tell him that this is what has to happen. This is the way things are going to be and if he doesn't go along with it, then hell will have no fury like what Dean will unleash upon him. And Cas suspects that even that won't be half as bad as what Anna might have in store. So he nods and he extends his hand.

"We should meet properly, I think."

"Agree. Dean Winchester, fiancé to the ravishing red head on my left."

"Castiel Novak, wedding planner to said red head and her very professional fiancé. Your husband took _very_ good care of me."

"Of course he did. He's amazing. You should see him with his patients, it's like he's a different person." Dean ducks his head and smiles. "Don't do that. Not now. Don't do that 'oh I'm not that great' thing you do. He's brilliant and he's perfect."

"She's projecting."

"Well I find you both delightfully nauseating," Cas says, hoping the edge in his voice in undetectable. Anna smiles, but Dean watches him carefully, scrutinizing with his gaze, and Cas feels like he's being picked apart. They chat for a bit about how perfect Dean is, which makes Cas want to tear his fucking hair out, but he endures it until Anna's mother drags her away to meet a photographer, which Cas would object to if he wasn't interested in speaking with Dean one on one. With Anna gone, though, it's not really any easier.

"You failed to mention your engagement," he finally says, watching Dean carefully.

"Mmm, yeah, I...I, uh...I'm sorry. About that." He clears his throat. "It wasn't exactly appropriate."

"It's fine," Cas lies, concentrating on a spot he hadn't noticed staining the cuff of his shirt sleeve. "Really, it is."

"It's not, actually, but I'd appreciate it if it just stayed between us."

"Right. Of course."

"I mean, I love Anna. I do. I just...that night, I couldn't...it was all really _perfect_ , you know?" Oh dear God in _heaven_ does Cas know. He knows better than Dean, he suspects, but just nods. "I meant it, about us getting together again. But I guess it'll be to pick out chairs or something, right?" Cas shrugs. "I suck at this wedding stuff, I'm just gonna tell you now. I mean, I don't know the difference between this something borrowed crap or blue or new or whatever."

"Something old, something new."

"Right."

"It's a stupid tradition."

"Yeah, I'm not really a traditionalist. But Anna's mom is. Hopefully you can avoid her."

"So I've been told."

"If she asks you to plan this charity event—"

"Just say no."

"Good answer, Mrs. Reagan." Dean winks and accepts a glass of champagne one of the caterers offers him. Cas declines. "Not a drinker?"

"Technically, I'm working."

"Live a little. Here." Dean hands him his own glass and takes a new one. "A toast. To a, ah, _renewed_ friendship. May our brief history not get in the way of what I think will be a beautiful relationship. Anna fucking loves you."

"She's a keeper."

"She's great," Dean agrees, nodding and tossing his champagne back. "Really great. And she's got this wedding stuff in the bag. Like, there's this _list_ , oh my _God_. Wait until she shows you the list. It's got colors and dress styles and flowers and like all this _stuff_ that I've never even heard of. I mean, you work in medicine for a while and your vocabulary gets limited, you know? I can't even _remember_ the last book I read."

"College. I read some self—help book for a business class my senior year. Haven't read much of anything since."

"You just lose track of time, right?"

"You lose track of everything." Dean nods.

"Yeah. You really do."

  
— — —

  
When he gets away from it all, from Anna's clinging mother and the four single cousins he had to meet and make awkward eye contact with and the sister—in—law from Minnesota with her accent and her ugly brass earrings — when he gets away from _Dean_ and the memory of his face so dangerously close to his own — Cas can finally breathe and process and wish he was dead. He should have known, really. Dean Winchester was fantastic. Cas had played the damsel to his knight, the handsome and selfless doctor who pulled strange things out of small children's ears and told them to wash their hands and take their medicine. He'd walked right into that and come away hoping that there could be something. But with Cas, there can't ever _be_ something. It's not his job to make himself happy. And it's not anyone else's job to do that for him either.

His mother had warned him, when he told her what he wanted to do.

"You'll be miserable, because that's who you are. You'll be surrounded by happiness and you'll be hateful because of it, Cas. I know you."

The driver this time around is silent, and for that Cas is grateful.

  
— — —

  
"Don't. Ask."

Cas comes into work the following Monday after spending a weekend with Anna and her list. And as much as he loves the fact that she's organized and knows what she wants, there's a certain level of anal retentiveness that Castiel just can't endure. On Saturday evening, he left her apartment with several pages of notes and the realization that, indeed, Anna was going to be just as much trouble as anyone else. Probably more.

"I was just going to say that a Dean Winchester called and wanted to know if you would join him for lunch."

"No."

"But isn't this _the_ Dean? The one who—"

"Is engaged to Anna Milton? Yes." Chuck raises an eyebrow and follow Cas into his office. "I told you. No questions."

"Just a few."

"Naturally."

"You're not going to do this, right?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're not going to plan this wedding."

"No, I am."

"This guy makes you think he's unattached and single and totally DTF—"

"I don't understand that acronym."

"And then you find out that he is actually the _opposite_ of all those things—"

"Chuck."

"—but is the opposite of them with your new favorite client, and you're just going to _go through with this?_ It's sick, Cas. Sick and wrong, even for you."

"What am I supposed to do? I don't have another job."

"Yeah you do! You've got three women who have put their weddings on _hold_ for you. Call one of them!"

"I've already committed."

"Oh bullshit. You've quit planning someone's wedding before and you can do it now."

"No, I can't."

"He's not going to _leave_ her for you."

"What?" Cas looks up sharply from a list of possible wedding singers he and Anna compiled over the weekend. Chuck looks like he might have said something wrong, but quickly stands up a bit straighter, holding his ground.

"He's not going to leave her for you. It's just not going to happen."

"That's not what I'm expecting."

"Then what is it? You can't do this, Cas. You met this guy and you really, _really_ liked him, enough to tell Becky every fucking detail about him. And now you find out that he _lied_ to you, and not just a little lie, not just a _white_ lie or anything, but he fucking lied about who he was and made you think that he was ready to kiss you and ride off into the shooting—star sunset with you and you find out he's engaged to your new best friend and _what_ do you do? _You plan his wedding._ It's disgusting, Cas."

"Are you done?"

"I'm _never_ done."

"Get the fuck out of my office." Chuck narrows his eyes and turns on an angry heel, walking briskly back to his desk. " _And don't call Becky!_ " Chuck picks up the phone and Cas knows he's calling her, so he shuts and locks the door, sinking back into his chair and closing his eyes.

He knows this is stupid and fucked up and that he should probably see a therapist. Because Chuck is right. Dean's not leaving Anna for him and nothing it going to go the way it should, the way it _deserves_ to go. Not for him anyway. He's sinking lower and lower into his chair and his own self—pity when he cell rings and buzzes on the desk. Frowning, because no one he's given them number to recently should be calling him right about now, he answers. "Yeah?"

"Anna gave me your number, before you flip out." Dean. Of course. Because when it rains, it actually rains fire. "Apparently you're supposed to taste cakes today?"

"It was a possibility."

"Well you're doing that with me now."

"I don't think so."

"Mmm, yeah. You can call her, if you want. But she's in deposition right now and if you do, she'll probably rip your throat out when she sees you again. She's got like four witnesses to question this afternoon and you _don't_ want to talk to her after she's done that. Trust me." Cas finds it funny that Dean would use choice phrases like "trust me," but chooses not to comment.

"What about you? You're the super doctor, don't you have pediatric tumors to be removing?"

"One, that's not funny. Two, no, I don't remove tumors, I remove lego pieces from ear canals. And three, I had office this morning, but I've got a few hours to spare and if there's one thing I can't say no to, it's free cake. Actually, it's free food in general, among other things."

"Fascinating."

"Look, you can pretend to hate me if you'd like to, but we both know you and I are tasting cakes this afternoon. So why don't you just meet me at my office and I'll drive us there. Okay?"

"Fine." Cas hangs up because he hates listening to that tone people get when they know they're right. It's how his own voice sounds far too much for his own comfort. He opens the door to his office and watches as Chuck talks to Becky on the phone.

He didn't plan their wedding. Chuck's never told him about it, but Cas is pretty sure they were married at a courthouse with a handful of witnesses three years ago, which was about the time Cas hired him. He'd known Chuck before that, though, when he was washing dishes for a catering service that Cas stuck with until they went out of business. When Chuck came to him looking for a job, Cas couldn't say no. He couldn't say no to the newly fired newlywed who just wanted to write and make his wife proud and learn to be a good father. He just couldn't.

His thoughts are violently interrupted when Chuck mentions something about basal body temperatures, which gives Cas enough of an excuse to grab his phone from the desk and try not to run out before he gets anymore unpleasant imagery.

Everyone says that it was Mark Twain who called his coldest winter a summer in San Francisco, but Cas hasn't every really cared enough to find out. It's May and it's nice enough outside for Cas to finally wear the sweater vest Becky bought him for Christmas two years ago that's taken all this time to actually grow on him. Maybe it was the mustard tone to it, Cas doesn't know. He just knows that Chuck took a picture and sent it to Becky and her hormones made her cry, she was so happy. Chuck said she was crying over everything recently — it was extremely unsettling.

The nurses at the front desk give him the once over before going back to their work. Cas is sure they've seen stranger. Dean comes out in dark blue scrubs, brandishing a clipboard as his speaks.

"I want to know why small children shove toys in their ears. Can someone tell me this?"

"Mild curiosity," Cas offers.

"Like, 'Gee, I wonder how this G.I. Joe toy will feel if I shove it so far down my ear canal, it comes out the other side?'"

"Something like that."

"Brilliant." Dean sighs and checks a few things off the papers he's holding and hands them over to one of the nurses. "Make sure Madison gets a script for a few Z—packs? She's got an ear infection. Again. And if my brother calls, I died tragically in a hospital fire, okay?"

"Sure, Dr. Winchester."

"And if he calls _again_ , tell him that I bought a cell phone for a reason."

"I'll do my best." Dean sighs and turns to Cas.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Come on. We'll have fun. And if we don't, then you don't ever have to go anywhere with me again."

"I highly doubt that."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Dean shakes his keys in Cas's face, who swats his hand away and follows him outside. He'd almost forgotten how fucking beautiful the Impala was, but tries not to show it. "Dude, is that a purse?"

"This is a briefcase, Dean."

"With a strap."

"I won't judge your clogs if you don't just my manpurse. Understood?" Dean looks at his feet, which are covered by blue hospital booties over a pair of beaten, black rubber clogs. He sighs and relents, muttering, "Fair enough," before getting into the car.

"Look. I know we had a rough start—"

"I am not going to have this conversation with you. You know the address. Drive."

"I just want to talk about it."

"And I don't. I'm fine. I'm over it. What I'm not is patient. Shockingly enough, tasting wedding cakes isn't the only thing I have to do today, so if we could get going, I'd appreciate it."

"No wonder you're not married."

"Mmm, you're right. It must be my bad attitude and not the fact that I'm a gay man living in America. How silly of me."

"Don't get snarky."

"Don't say stupid things."

"You live in San Francisco, man." Dean makes a left that he shouldn't, curses, and pulls a u—turn. "It's totally cool, you know?" Cas doesn't respond and Dean sighs, leaning his head against the back of his seat and making the turn he meant to before. "Look, I know how it feels."

"To be _gay_ in San Francisco."

"To feel like you can't get what you want."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You're getting married. To a wonderful woman who loves you and thinks you're perfect and you know what it feels like to not get what you want? You'll have to excuse me if I just don't feel like listening to anymore _bullshit_ than I already have to on a daily basis."

"She hasn't told you, has she?"

"What?"

"Look, she'll tell you when she's good and ready. It's not my place." Cas raises an eyebrow. "There was...an incident."

"Your ability to clarify while being increasingly vague is astounding."

"I told you, she'll have to tell you."

"It would be better, then, if you just shut up about it."

"Let's talk about you then."

"Dean, you're going to run that red light."

" _Shit!_ " Dean hits the breaks and for a moment, they sit quietly, trying not to breathe too loud. Then something in Cas cracks and he laughs, the noise ringing loud in the cramped space of the car. Dean starts in not long after him and they laugh until well after the light turns green. "I guess the universe wants us to talk about cake."

So Cas sits through an hour of Dean making faces at wedding toppers and wondering if it would be inappropriate for them to be naked or possibly gender swapped. He stops tasting after four bites because, really, Cas hates cake. ("I prefer ice cream," he explains when Dean offers him another piece and he declines. Dean thinks ice cream is weird, but goes along with it.)

"I like chocolate, but I'm going to go with vanilla because that's what Anna would say."

"Imagine if she sliced it open on her wedding day, only to find the horror that is devil's food cake." Dean looks at the piece of rich, dark cake and then back at Cas. "I _dare_ you," he whispers, only half joking.

"I can't. She'll eat me."

"Not if she's eating cake."

"She'll divorce me."

"Sign a prenup." Dean looks back down at the cake and then at the baker.

"Fuck it. Let's go with the chocolate." And that's how Cas ends up walking out of the bakery with four slices of chocolate cake and a hyperventilating Dean in tow, trying to convince him that, really, Anna won't be mad and, honestly, who doesn't love devil's food cake? "She will kill me. And eat me. And hate me. Forever."

"So go back inside. _Change_ it and quit bitching. It's cake, Dean."

"Shouldn't you be mad as hell? It's on your little list. It even says 'VANILLA' in all caps. You _underlined_ it." Cas shrugs and Dean continues to bemoan his situation. "Shoulda just gotten pie. I fucking love pie."

In the car, Cas pulls out Anna's list and stars at it. **VANILLA** is definitely written there, but for the first time, Cas realizes, he's done something a client doesn't want. And he did it because he watched Dean look at that slice of chocolate cake like it might _kill_ him if it wasn't as his wedding. He did it because he wanted, in that second, to just make him happy. And as he watches Dean start the car, he remembers what Chuck said — _he's not going to leave her for you_ — he tries to tell himself he believes that. And that he's only here anymore for Anna, and no one else.

When Dean stops at his favorite cafe and forces Cas to eat their strawberry rhubarb pie, he knows that he's just lying to himself. All because of a piece of pie.

  
— — —

  
He knew it was only a matter of time before Becky dragged herself back into his office with eight kinds of bagels, a water bottle flavored like bad Crystle Light lemonade, and more sass than should be humanly possible. Cas hears her before he sees her — rather, he hears Chuck yelling, "Becky, just fucking _stop_ for five seconds," before she locks the door and throws the bag of bagels at him and collapses into a chair.

"Castiel. I am honing in on my seventh month of pregnancy. I have been drinking _pickle juice_ for four months with no end in sight. I have put up with your shit for three years and I am not about to stand idly by while you throw away a job just because you're in love with the groom." She tears a chunk out of an asiago bagel and glares. "This is complete and utter bullshit. You know this, right? Like, you're aware of how fucking stupid you're being."

"You're being _awfully_ snarky to the man who employs your husband."

"Oh please. I've said worse. You're just upset because I'm onto you and your little spaz attack you seem to be having. What in the _hell_ makes you think that this is okay?"

"There's nothing going on."

"You let him get his way. You never let _anyone_ get their way. He pouts and you go for chocolate! You buckle, you cave, you go out for pie!" She screams in frustration, throwing the rest of her bagel at his chest and sinking down into the chair. "You're hopeless, Cas. Hopelessly hopeful. He's not going to understand. You...you can't _make_ him understand."

"I'm not trying to."

"You met him and you almost had something, but it wasn't _real._ It was one night. _One_ night, Cas."

"It was the best night," Cas says quietly, staring at his hands in his lap. Becky gives him a sad smile.

"I know. But that's all it was."

  
— — —

  
"I have a theory." Cas shifts his cell phone onto his left ear as he compares color swatches for chair covers. Anna clears her throat and he prepares for the worst. "I think you and my fiancé are conspiring against me."

"In what way?"

"Dean told me about the devil's food cake."

"He was a freight train. I couldn't stop him."

"Cas..."

"Honestly? He thought you'd like it." She makes a noise that sounds like a mix between a laugh and a sob, but Cas doesn't ask why. "It's never too late. It can be fixed if we do it now."

"No, it's fine. It's just that I made a list."

"He was made aware of said list." Anna sighs. "Look, I'll be honest with you. The chocolate cake was just better."

"Now you're just patronizing me."

"I'll call and change it."

"Don't. It'll break his heart."

"He's pretty set on the chocolate."

"He is. If Dean had his way, we'd—"

"Pie. Right. He told me."

"He's an animal. I swear, he was raised in a barn."

"Because he likes _pie_?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Look, I'm sending him with you tomorrow to pick out the chair covers. We agreed on the mint green, correct?" Cas holds the color swatches out, realizing that he hates the color mint green and that the light blue would look a lot better next to her yellow center pieces, but finds himself nodding and agreeing and promising he won't let Dean pick out something ugly and obnoxious. Of course, he shouldn't even _have_ to make these promises — Cas has never had this problem before, he's never had to swear up and down that he'll keep a groom in check or that he won't let said groom change everything he thinks about a wedding he's been invested in since day one.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and recognizes that he might be in deep shit. Just a little.

"Dean's in the waiting room," Chuck says, sticking his head into the doorway.

" _What?_ " Chuck is not supposed to meet Dean. Chuck is never supposed to even _talk_ to Dean, but that's already gone to hell, so it's all back to the fact that Chuck is never _ever_ supposed to see Dean and talk with him and Dean is never supposed to come to his office. And he's certainly not allowed to come to his office while Becky stands behind her husband, shoveling cottage cheese smothered in Velveeta into her mouth and downing it all with more of her shitty Crystal Light drinks.

 _None_ of this is supposed to happen, but here it is, unfolding in front of Cas like some horror scene out of a bad Lifetime movie. He drops the color swatches and tries to look as calm as he possibly can as he strides into the waiting room.

"And of course I'm just standing there, trying to understand why this baby's name is Norway. I mean, yeah, I hadn't slept in three days, so I'm staring at the chart and I keep yelling 'Norway? Uh, Norway? Baby Norway?' And then this couple stands up and is like, 'Well, we're _from_ Norway, if that's what you mean.' And then I look back at the chart and realize I've been reading this kid's country of birth for the last three minutes. I mean..." Chuck and Becky smile. "Maybe you had to be there."

"Don't worry. She won't be named Norway."

"He'll be named after my father."

" _She'll_ be named after my grandmother."

"Uh, you don't know the gender?"

"Becky refuses to know. I'm just sitting here in the dark, pretending that I'm okay with it."

"Everyone and their mother knows you're not okay with that, Chuck." Cas finally makes himself heard, stepping into their conversation and trying to derail it as soon as possible. "Anna just called. We're going chair cover shopping."

"You might have to restrain me."

"Right. Shall we?" Cas tries very, _very_ hard not to shove Dean out the door, and tries even harder to avoid eye contact with either Chuck or Becky, whose stares he can feel drilling holes into his back. Dean just keeps smiling, which makes him even more nervous. "I am under strict orders not to let you have your way today."

"Fair enough. But we're stopping for lunch first. Or after. You know what, after. Give me something to look forward to." Dean fishes for his keys and unlocks the Impala. "How do you feel about fish tacos?" Cas rolls his eyes and instead answers by reading the address of the fabric store and the color they're suppose to buy. "Mint green? How about we make it sage green and I won't bitch too much."

"I won't ask why you know the difference between mint and sage."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Dean shakes his head and rolls through a stop sign, making a right and earning a disapprove cluck from Cas.

"Oh, blow me."

  
— — —

  
Cas has never understood chair covers, among other things. Of course, from the start he's never understood weddings or marriage or the entire system, so it's always been a wonder that he's lasted this long in the business anyway. He's pretty sure it goes back to that happiness thing, but as he watches Dean run his hand over bolts of fabric, he remembers that it might be this wedding that ruins him.

While Dean is distracted, Cas quickly gives one of the employees their order. "How about red?"

"I took care of it."

"Oh come on. You didn't even give me the chance to change your mind."

"I'd like to keep my head, thank you very much."

"I know how to pick 'em. Hey, check it out! They cover couches! I need to get the ones in my waiting room fixed." Dean flits over to a section of the store and starts asking one of the employees a slew of impromptu questions while Cas checks his list.

He's thinking about flowers when a voice sounds very loudly near him. He's thinking about the list as he recognizes that voice. He's thinking about running like hell as the voice realizes that Cas is standing in the middle of a fabric show room, trying very hard to will the ground to swallow him whole.

"Well, well. Look what the dogs dragged in from outside."

There comes a point in life when a person has to hide from the past, or turn around and face it. Cas would give _anything_ for that day to not be today, but he's clutching Anna's list in his hand and he can't leave without Dean and he's feeling just the tiniest bit masochistic today, so he turns around.

"Zacharia."

"Jesus Christ. They still let you _work_ in this town?" Zach laughs and shifts his briefcase from one hand to another. It's so fucking _tacky_ and he's had it for as long as Cas can remember, but it's made of real alligator skin and there's something about man that carries something like that around that scares the hell out of him. "I would have thought—"

"I have my own business," Cas tries to say, but his voice in tiny and raw and not quite real in his own throat. He wants to vomit. Zacharia makes him sick, makes him remember things he wants to forget.

"Well, I guess since no one _actually_ knew—"

"Is there a problem here?" Dean steps in at the perfect moment. He looks so _stupid_ standing there in his scrubs and clogs with the fucking blue booties over them and his hospital ID still clipped to his shirt. Cas wants to kiss the obnoxious, I—mean—business look right off his face and then some, but he stays still. "Dean Winchester," he says, offering Zach a hand. "Castiel's current employer."

"Fascinating." Zacharia turns back to Cas. "You never learn, do you? You think this will end any better than the last time? Or the time before that?"

"That was a long time ago. I think we both know things have changed."

"Right. Well! I have a bar mitzvah to finish planning. I'm sure your wedding will turn out _splendidly_. Castiel is, for all his flaws, a very talented man. But, maybe you already know that, ah, _Doctor_ Winchester." He walks away, leaving Castiel flustered and red in the face and Dean a bit open mouthed and confused.

"That was the most obnoxiously vague encounter of my entire life." He pauses, looking down and then back at Cas. "Come on. I'm buying you a drink."

  
— — —

  
Flashback. Of sorts. Cas always neglects to mention the year of his life he spent working for Luke Forrester, San Francisco's big—deal event planner. Luke was brilliant, and what Cas didn't learn from his mother, he learned from this guy. He was a freight train of productivity and for a year and almost four months, Cas learned how to plan under eight thousand kinds of stress. He worked with the best. He planned for the best. And then Luke wanted to make him a partner, and everything was going fine.

And then he met Meg.

It wasn't Meg who was the problem, really. She was just a ridiculous encouragement. She hired Luke to plan her brother's wedding, the wedding she _knew_ was a sham, but didn't have it in her to say a word about. Cas met her brother. And he fell pretty fucking hard. And all the while there was Meg, who didn't know how to tell everyone that her brother was hiding in his own skin, but here was this other man who could do it for her. Cas was never sure how Zacharia found out. He had always been disgustingly secretive. But he knew, and he gave Cas an ultimatum: leave the group, or have Luke find out that one of his biggest weddings of the year had been called off because his star planner fucked the groom.

Cas left because he was ashamed. Zach became a partner. And when Luke left for New York, he got the group, too.

It took Cas a long time to get a lot of things back, but in the end, he was pretty sure he'd moved beyond it all. By his fifth drink, he knows that that isn't true.

They're sitting in Cas's kitchen, because Dean wasn't going to let him get shit faced in a bar, he decided, and being able to crash in your own bed is like heaven. He's silently sipping on one of the beers he bought, watching Cas robotically relive the most shameful memory he has and then down his glass of vodka.

"So that's it."

"That's it."

"That Zacharia guy's a dick." Cas nods. "I get it though, why you quit."

"I couldn't have Luke know. He trusted me and I...I failed. Miserably."

"You messed up. You didn't fail. You were just...human."

"I couldn't afford to be human. I should have...I should have just stayed away. But Meg. Jesus Christ, she was relentless."

"She sounds like a bitch."

"She just didn't know what else to do."

"That's dumb. And you're drunk and you think it wasn't. You still blame yourself."

"So? I fucked up. Astronomically."

"Right. But you didn't do it again."

"Dean, I don't think you realize how dangerously close I come to fucking up every time I'm near you."

They both grow very quiet and there's a wire in the air that snaps. Dean clears his throat and stares at the counter. Cas wants to die. He crunches ice because there's nothing else to do and it's too silent. Dean finally looks up.

"I, uh, I've never told Anna's family that I, you know, uh...I play for both teams. Anna has a brother. And like you may think that her family's cool with this whole nondenominational thing, but they're not. At all. I mean, like, Catholic like you would not believe. And I don't know, her brother. He came out to the family and they lost their fucking _shit_ over it. I don't know what they'd do about me."

"You're marrying their daughter."

"You don't think I have _doubts_? Ever? I do. All the time. Am I doing this because I need to hide? Because I feel like I should be hiding? Should I hide at all? I love Anna. I mean, I really love her. But, sometimes, it feels like it's this weird different kind of love."

"Dean."

"And sometimes I think, am I just marrying her because we've been dating since we were twenty and I think that that might be it, but that _can't_ be the only reason, right?"

"Dean. You really need to stop telling me these things."

"Why?"

"Because I am your _wedding_ planner."

"Yeah?" Dean goes around the counter and sits on the bar stood opposite Cas. "Well you're also the guy who walked in front of a taxi cab and bought me dinner and watched the fucking sky fall with me." His hands are on Cas's knees now and Cas knows Dean's not nearly drunk enough to do what Cas _wishes_ he would do. He's not drunk enough, but he does it anyway. Clumsy and half—shamed, Cas kisses back, his hands gripping the back of Dean's neck like a vise, pulling him closer, trying to taste more, feel more — all of it, just there and for him. He thinks of Anna once. It's a sick thought and it makes his stomach turn, but Dean stops him.

"Just don't. Don't think about it. I'll fix it. All of it, I'll fix it I promise." Cas nods over and over as Dean tilts his head to the side and trails teeth and tongue down his neck. He grabs Dean by the sleeves of his scrubs and half—drags him back to his bedroom, pushing him onto the mattress like a man possessed. Dean smiles sheepishly. "Easy," he mutters. "It's okay. I'm here. It's okay." But Cas needs him to be quiet. No more words, no more noises except the ones he can pull from Dean's throat every time he palms the erection that is so glaringly obvious in his pants. Dean groans into Cas's neck, fighting with his shirt and tie. "I...I haven't done... _this_ in a — _fuck_ — while." Cas keeps nodding and kisses him again to keep him from talking.

Dean gets the picture and stops talking, stripping off his scrubs with ease as Cas struggles with the lube and a condom from his bedside table. They don't say anything at all as Cas covers his fingers and slowly presses one into Dean, pulling a whimper from his throat. He waits, moves again, then pushes in another. By the time he has three inside, Dean is trembling, head tossed back. Cas can't help himself as he moves forward and drags his teeth along the bared skin of his neck. Carefully, he pulls his fingers away and rolls the condom down his cock, feeling the pressure of want and need as he rubs the lube on and tosses it aside, appreciating the subtle cant upward of Dean's hips. In one swift move, he sinks in, hands pressed hard on Dean's chest as he moves slowly, adjusting to the tightness and drowning in heat and the noises he can steal.

Because it's stealing, really. He's a thief and this isn't his and he can't stop taking it. He knows Dean's letting him have it, but Anna doesn't know and her family _can't_ know and there's no way he can ever tell anyone _he_ knows at all.

Dean pushes toward him, reaching for his own cock and stroking slowly while Cas keep pushing, in and out, again and again. He's almost there, almost there, _almost_ there when he feels Dean's body jerk and hears a shout and an almost too quiet, " _There_ , fuck yes, right _there_ ," and Cas knows he's got it. He hits that spot again until Dean comes, teeth gritted and eyes shut tight. Cas follows, his last thrusts sloppy and desperate. He collapses next to Dean and, for a while, they stare at the ceiling, not touching or speaking. Dean opens his mouth several times, like he's about to confess or apologize or something, but stops himself. Cas is grateful.

"Anna," he finally says. "I...I need to get home. It's late."

"She'll wonder."

"Rounds. It's always rounds," he mutters, pushing himself out of the bed and fumbling for his clothes. Cas sits up, exposed and unsure.

He feels utterly wrecked.

But, then again, he asked for this.

Silently, he watches Dean go, nodding when he makes his excuses. Because he understands and this will end the way it always does. But Cas won't let it stop the future this time. He'll hold out that he and Dean are just sparks flying in the friction and that, when the metal stops running, it'll fade.

  
— — —

  
There's no sign of Dean until, one afternoon, Cas is sitting at Crowley's, listening to him bitch about a waitress stealing from the registers when he gets a text. Cas doesn't like texting, but he tolerates them. He ignores this one, though, like he does with most things when he's with Crowley, and waits until he gets back to his office, frowning at his phone as he loosens his tie.

**text from: dean winchester at 11:43 AM**   
_anna wants to pick out flowers today. also i'm sorry._

The phone buzzes again.

**text from: dean winchester at 1:01 PM**   
_my brother is in town._

It's strange how this sounds more like a warning than the statement Cas thinks it's intended to be. He reads the line, trying to find some other meaning behind it. Why so brief? Why _after_ the apology? Why any apology at all? Weren't they _both_ a part of what had happened? He sits down, spreading out his notes and starting to call the florist when Chuck knocks on his door.

"Chuck. I'm busy."

"I know. But there's a sasquatch in your waiting room."

"I'm sorry?"

"A sasquatch. In your waiting room. Said he knows Anna." Cas raises an eyebrow and gets up, following Chuck out into the lobby and trying to understand exactly what he means. In about five seconds, he does.

Sam Winchester is huge. Cas is tall, and he knows Dean is tall, but this was not what he was expecting.

Sasquatch, indeed.

"Hi," is all he says, grinning and extending his only free hand while his other holds onto the Blackberry that Cas knows is probably fused to the skin. "You're...Castiel?"

"You must be Sam."

"Dean warned you, huh?"

"You could say that." Sam laughs and finally puts his phone into his pocket, leaning back a little and shaking his head.

"I wasn't supposed to get here until week after next, before the wedding, but Dean called, said he needed me here, so. Duty calls, I guess." Cas nods, well aware that the wedding date is fast approaching. "Anyway, I was wondering if, uh, I could talk to you? In your office?"

"Yes, of course. That's fine. Chuck, memos."

"Mmhm." Chuck is already at his desk, bored with the exchange between the two and texting Becky. Cas leads Sam into his office and shuts the door. "Have a seat."

"Great thanks." The entire room is too small compared to Sam, but he has this thing about him that makes him fit anywhere, like he came with the furniture when Cas bought it. Sitting across from him, Cas has to admire the fact that he seems a bit too nice to be a lawyer. He'd expected a more ruthless version of Dean, but what he finds is quite different.

"Something you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah, uh, are you _trying_ to fuck up my brother's marriage? Or are you actually in love with him?"

Cas balks, freezing before he can even sit in his chair. Sam doesn't look angry, but instead oddly calm, as though this was something he'd ask anyone. His head is tilted slightly to the right and Cas swears he sees the ghost of a smile there, like this is _funny_ and Cas is some sort of joke.

"I...I, uh..."

"I mean, I'll get it if you _do_ love him. But, like, why now?"

"Sam, I—"

"Dean doesn't _doubt_. Not himself, not what he's feeling, not what he thinks is right. Nothing. And then you come along and now he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. And I know I should be really fucking mad, but you're the first person who has really _ever_ made Dean ask why he's doing something." Sam shakes his head. "Marrying Anna is a terrible idea."

"Don't tell me that," Cas snaps, beginning a furious pacing by the door. "Don't _even_ tell me that. No. _No_. I have poured my sweat and _blood_ into this wedding. You can't...you can't—"

"It's true. He's marrying her because he thinks it's what he's _supposed_ to do. They've been together since college! He has this warped, fucked up sense of obligation to her and everyone around him." Sam stands and stares at Cas with eyes that remind him frighteningly of a small animal's. "Look, I don't know how you really feel about my brother, but if you felt something strong enough to...to, you know..." Cas looks away and Sam groans. "Just _hear me out_ , okay?"

"Sam. I made a mistake. I...Why am I telling _you_ this?"

"I listen to excuses for a living. People tend to spill everything around me."

"Excuses? I..." Cas trails off. Because everything really is just an excuse at this point. And a bad one, at that. Cas can't say if he's in love with Dean, because he doesn't admit to things like that. Ever. Not like this, not this soon. He starts pacing and looking at Anna's list and thinking about _Anna_ and how they just clicked and how excited she's been and how they're picking out _flowers_ in—

Cas's cell phone buzzes and, of course, it's Anna. He shakes off what he's feeling for a minute and composes himself.

"Flowers?" he answers, feeling suddenly lighter at the prospect of hearing Anna's voice on the other end. Even though he seems to be ruining her marriage from the inside out, there's still a part of Cas wants to see Anna's wedding to its conclusion.

"It would seem so," she says, sounding a bit deflated. Cas swallows, wondering if it's at all possible if she knows. "I'll meet you there in thirty? Dean said you have Sam."

"I do, yes."

"Bring him. I haven't seen my future brother—in—law in almost a year." She laughs then, and Cas feels better when he hangs up, turning to Sam with a small smile.

"Anna wants to see you." Sam just laughs and stands, clapping a hand on Cas's shoulder and shaking his head.

"Man, you are ten kinds of _fucked_."

Cas has to agree.

  
— — —

  
Anna is nowhere to be found when they get to the florists, so Cas sends Sam into the greenhouse to look for her while he heads into the back to find the female attendant he always works with, but whose name consistently escapes him. Something with a "J." He racking he brain trying to remember when he bumps headlong into Anna.

"Sam's in the greenhouse, he's...Anna. Are you alright?" She looks at him now, eyes rimmed red from crying, and nods. But it's a shaky, slightly psychotic sort of nod that Cas has seen a hundred thousand times before on women just as strong as Anna. "Come here." Disregarding the employees only sign on the break room, he pulls her in and shuts the door, sitting her on a flimsy metal folding chair across from him and snagging a handful of paper towels from the dispenser behind him. "Spill it."

Cas has done this before. Pep talks and therapy sessions. He talked a woman out of killing herself two years ago, but he's pretty sure Anna's nowhere close enough to coming that undone that quickly. She blows her nose and shakes her head.

"It's Dean. He's just...he's been weird for like a _week_ now, and I don't have any fucking _clue_ why. I bring up wedding stuff and he just brushes it off. He wants to talk about what we're _feeling_ or whatever, like we just fucking met or something. He's always asking me if I remember different dates we went on, or if I remember our first Christmas together or whatever. And then he asks me these questions and it's like...like I start asking them to myself later, when I'm alone. And then I wonder if I'm just doing this because...because it's _only_ been Dean since I was nineteen, I've never _been_ with anyone else. Not in any official capacity." She groans and holds her face in her hands, shaking her head over and over. "I'm so _fucking_ confused."

Cas leans forward. As much as he knows he's the wrench that's been tossed into the spokes of her future marriage, Cas also knows that, right now, he has to pretend he isn't the man who fucked her fiancé and that he isn't the man who may or may not be in love with Dean Winchester. May or may not have been in love with him since they say on the hood of a car and watched the stars. He pretends, for a moment, that he is none of these. And he holds Anna's face in one of his hands and smiles.

"You love him." A statement. Not a question. But something behind Anna's eyes falters and she stares at him for far too long for Cas to be comfortable. "Anna..."

"I...I don't know anymore."

The door swings open and a strung—out college student in a dirty green apron scowls at them.

"Employees only guys."

"We were just leaving," Cas says quickly, guiding Anna out by the elbow. "Clean up. Breathe. I'll be in the greenhouse looking at lilies with Sam."

"Okay," she murmurs. "Okay. I'm okay."

"Yes. You are." Cas pulls her close to him and presses a rare kiss to her forehead. He wants that tiny bit of pressure to hold every apology he could ever give her. To beg her forgiveness and hold the promise that he will see this to the end.

  
— — —

  
The last two weeks before a wedding are usually Cas's most productive. He spends larger quantities of time at the actual site, arranging and rearranging things in his head, revisiting every florist, baker, and musician he's spoken two in the planning process, and calming the bride down.

But since the episode in the greenhouse, Anna hasn't said a thing about her doubts. And in fact, every time Cas sees her with Dean, they were ridiculously happy, smiling and touching one another and whispering. Sometimes, Dean catches his eye and Cas will look away, because Anna is happy and that's what he wants. It isn't what he wants most anymore, but it's at least _one_ thing, and if he gets that, then everything else should fall away.

Shouldn't it?

Because as much as Cas is dedicated to this wedding, there is a part of him that consistently returns to that night. And he feels the sweat cling to his skin like it was yesterday and he can hear Dean and feel the _want_ rippling through both their bodies and everything fits and is right. And he doesn't ever want to forget it.

He wants to feel it _again_. And again, and again, and again and he never wants to be without it.

But the person he wants is marrying a woman he cares about and he won't be that thing that comes between two people again. He just _won't_.

Sam doesn't say anything else, just shuffles around behind his brother, texting his own wife, a small woman Cas has seen numerous photos of named Ruby. He despises the park that Anna has chosen to have their ceremony in, and apparently Ruby finds the idea of holding the reception there as well a bit tactless. Cas politely reminds him that, as lovely as Ruby may be, she is not, in fact planning the wedding. Cas is.

"Is 'fuck the groom' on your list?" Sam snaps back one evening while they are alone at a dinner table together and Dean and Anna are dancing to a nauseatingly romantic slow—song. Sam does not take shots at his wife lightly and usually retaliates this way when Cas inadvertently insults her. It's only the hundredth time it's happened, so he's not all that take aback by it this time around.

"It's a sublist, top secret," he drawls back, annoyed with Sam's near—permanent pissy attitude. He's had enough to drink to make him irritable and Sam's most recent attack is enough to make him want to get up and just get a cab home and be done with it all. But Anna insisted he come to dinner with them, mainly because Ruby was supposed to fly in that night, but was delayed by rain in, of all places, Arizona, where a lightening storm coupled with 122 degree temperatures grounded her plane in Phoenix. Cas's latest subtle jab at Ruby, coupled with her non—arrival, makes Sam nearly impossible to now sit with. Cas downs the last of his beer and doesn't bother telling Sam he'll be in the restroom, namely because Sam is furiously texting Ruby, probably telling her every last fucking detail about how Cas is slowly trying to ruin everyone's life.

He's a paranoid drunk, too.

The bathroom has a long wall of urinals and two stalls on the end. Naturally, the only other person there is Dean, and he staring at Cas like maybe, if he looks hard enough, Cas will vanish.

" _What_?" he snaps, watching Dean with narrowed, foggy eyes.

"Fuck it," Dean mutters, and he grabs Cas by the shirt and shoves him into a stall at the end of the row, locking the door behind. Cas is miles ahead, shoving Dean against the stall door and half—biting an angry kiss in his mouth, hands scrambling with his belt. "You have fucked _everything_ up," Dean spits, snagging the upper hand as Cas gets distracted with his belt buckle. "Do you know that?"

"Shut. _Up_." Cas kisses him again, sucking the words from his mouth, leaving a lazy trail across his lips with his tongue. The music from the restaurant is a constant presence in Cas's ears, and he is distantly aware of someone entering the bathroom, talking loudly on a cell phone. He rolls Dean's tie up in his hands and shoves it as indelicately as he possibly can in his mouth and dropping to his knees. He's wanted to do this for so fucking long, it's been driving him insane. Dean hisses when Cas pulls his cock from under his boxer shorts, immediately wrapping his mouth around the tip and moving slowly down. He feels fingers dig into his hair and hears the far—away sound of the thud of Dean's fist against the stall.

Cas knows that this should feel wrong. That he should feel like completely and utter _shit_ for everything is doing and wants to do. His mind is completely _depraved_ at this point, thinking of all the ways he could ravage Dean and be ravaged right back. He nearly comes himself just _thinking_ about it, but manages to concentrate. Dean is breathing heavily through his tie, sounding completely wrecked. Cas moves faster, sucking harder before moving back down, tightening his grip on Dean's thighs. When Dean comes, it's with a sharp thrust forward and the tie falls from his mouth, letting loose a sharp cry with Cas's name suddenly in the air as Cas swallows thickly.

Cas wants that name to go away, because it makes it harder, now, to clean himself up. He nearly cries when he sees the knees of his pants are still fairly clean, nothing the dark of the restaurant wont' cover up, but he has no idea how he and Dean will get back to the table.

"Go back," Dean says, shoving his tie into his pocket and pulling out his phone. "I'll take care of it." Cas hesitates before leaving the stall, glancing quickly back before getting a gentle push from Dean. " _Go_. I got this." Nodding, he exits the bathroom, realizing how unbelievable lucky they are that no one noticed or said a thing. At the table, Sam is still brooding over his phone and Anna is ordering another round of beers.

"Was Dean in the bathroom with you?" she asks. Sam's head snaps up.

"I haven't seen him since you two went off to dance."

"Weird," Sam says, lips quirking into a wicked smile. The smile doesn't falter a bit when Dean comes to the table, phone pressed to his ear, nodding.

"Everything okay?"

"Some kid tried to eat a balloon. The ER doc got him, he's just a patient of mine." He takes a seat next to Anna and kisses her temple, pointedly not looking at Cas. Sam goes back to his phone, but he stops periodically to look between Cas and Dean and shake his head. "Hey, dude, could you put that thing away for five minutes, okay? She's still in Phoenix, she's not going anywhere."

"She _should_ be going somewhere, namely your wedding."

"That's a week away."

"She's here to be supportive." Dean's mouth is turned down in a quiet, subtle snarl, but he says nothing, choosing, instead, to drink his beer, arm around Anna's shoulder. Cas refuses to drink anymore and, after a while, decides he's had about enough.

"You sure? We'll give you a ride home."

"I want to stop by my office, it's just up the street. I'll get a cab."

"Well...okay." Anna stands and wraps him in a quick hug. "Well go over the seating chart on Monday, okay? Take the weekend off. _Seriously_ , Cas," she says, when he opens his mouth to protest. "Take a break. You're stretched thin, I can tell. Relax this weekend and we'll get back into it on Monday." Cas nods and breaks away from the group. He can feel Dean's eyes on his retreating back, reminding him of what a terrible fucking excuse for a human being he is.

  
— — —

  
When he leaves the restaurant, Cas realizes that the only place in the world he'd like to be right then is home.

And not his house or this city, but _home_.

The only person he wants to talk to is his fucking mother. And something about that single thought makes something break inside of him. He walks blindly to his office, unlocked the door and goes straight for his desk. Before he knows it, his fingers are fumbling with his cell phone and he's collapsed in his office chair, something Becky picked out that has always been more comfortable than any bed or couch. The phone rings once. Twice. On the third ring, his mother's voice hits his ears and he nearly sobs with relief.

"Cas, what in the hell are you doing?"

"Hey...hey mom."

"Honey, you sound completely _wrecked_. Are you drunk? You're drunk, aren't you? Look, just—"

"Mother, I'm not drunk."

"It's okay if you are. I probably am."

"I know. It's okay. I love you, you know that?"

"How _much_ did you drink, exactly?"

"Mom, I'm serious." She pauses and Cas wonders how fucking crazy she thinks he is.

"Cas," she says gently, her voice nearly breaking his heart. "Honey, are you okay? What's wrong?"

And then it all comes tumbling out, everything that he's been feeling and everything that he wishes he hadn't done and things he didn't even know he was feeling before. And she listens, doesn't make a sound as he takes in shaky breaths and tries to keep talking. But his voice gives out and after a while it's just the noise of his breathing, hard and ragged. He becomes aware of her voice, soothing and slow, calming him down. There is a memory of her hand on his back, rubbing in smooth, concentric circles as he breathes through a panic attack or another fight with his father.

"If you love him, you should just _say_ something, honey."

"Mother, he's getting _married_."

"Castiel," she says sharply. He sits up straight. "You got yourself into this mess. You kissed him and you let him into your bed. _You_ have to fix it." He nods and even though she can't see him, she knows. "Good. I know you'll do what's right, baby. Now get some sleep and call me when you've set things straight, understand."

"Okay." Then, "Love you."

"Love you more."

  
— — —

  
Cas spends the weekend sleeping, having lunch with Becky, and stealing wine from Crowley, who listens to him bemoan his current situation and then tells him to do exactly what his mother told him. Becky is a bit nicer.

But only a bit.

"I mean, I'm sorry, hon, but you fucked up."

"Thank you."

"Look," she says, coating her hamburger bun with strawberry jam shamelessly and calmly. Their waiter raises an eyebrow as he sets Cas's glass of wine down on the table. "You fucked. Twice. Sort of. And, like, obviously both those moments mean something to you. But you can't pretend they mean the same thing to him."

"We've never talked about it."

"Your communication skills. I want them."

"Get to the point." Becky stops spreading the jam and sets her knife down pointedly.

"What I'm saying is this. To you, he might be the love of your life, meant to be forever, wander into the sunset and ride off a cliff into oblivion or whatever. But to him, you could just be stress relief, something different from Anna. And if he's getting married, he's not allowed to, you know, _do_ other people anymore. Not technically. He's not supposed to do this now, but hell, who needs rules, right?" She takes a large bite of the burger, mustard and jam dropping onto the plate.

"One, you're disgusting. And two..." Cas trails off.

"You know I'm probably right."

"I don't _want_ you to be right."

"Well, that's your problem then. I mean, you don't _know_ anything about what he's feeling because you won't talk about it. Mostly because you're an introverted moron who thinks that a look into your psyche is a privilege reserved for like an elite club or something." Becky dips her fries in mayo and shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe you should just go talk to him."

"Maybe."

"The wedding is in, like, a _week_. You are going to be so fucking busy that if he says you were just an easy lay or whatever, you won't have time to look at his stupid ugly face for more than five seconds."

"He's not ugly."

"Oh I _know_." She giggles. "Chuck is insanely jealous, though not as jealous as he is of his brother who is, and I quote 'a sasquatch or something.'"

"Sam is very tall."

"And sexy, from what I can gather." Cas shrugs and Becky loses herself in another fit of laughter, stopping only to scold her unborn child for kicking. "When I laugh, she loses her shit."

"When you have a son, I am going to give Chuck a raise for suffering through your nine month denial episode."

He narrowly misses a french fry Becky lobs at his head, but at the end of the day, he feels better.

  
— — —

  
Becky's right. The last week before the wedding, Cas hardly has any time to see Dean at all. Anna stops working for an entire week to dedicate herself to checking and rechecking the seating, but there is a bit of her that isn't really in it. Cas catches her staring at flowers without really seeing them. She goes off to have long conversations with people Cas doesn't know and comes back crying most of the time. When Dean is around, they fight. The wedding is Saturday. By Thursday night, nothing is okay.

"I'm leaving," she snaps after an entire morning and afternoon of bickering with Dean over wine choices which escalates into a fight about colors which evolves into another fight about the cost. In the end, Cas hears a rather loud _smack_ and Anna is gathering her things and leaving Cas's office in a huff. Dean doesn't go after her, choosing to stay seating and watch her retreating back with sad, tired eyes. Cas pretends he can't see.

"She doesn't love me."

"Sorry?"

"I said, she doesn't love me. Not anymore. Not like she used to."

"Please, stop saying these things, alright? Your wedding is in two days, Dean."

"I wish it wasn't this big. I wish we'd just done something small. It'd...it'd make it easier."

"Make _what_ easier?"

"Nothing," Dean mutters, trying to brush it off.

"Dean. What are you going to do?" Dean stands, folding his arms over his chest and staring Cas down.

"I can't go through with this."

" _What?!_ " Cas throws everything he has onto the ground and grabs Dean by the shirt, shoving him against the wall. "Would you mind _repeating_ yourself, please?"

"I said that I can't do this."

"That's what I thought you said." In one swift move, Cas lands a punch straight into Dean's stomach, sending him folding into himself, gasping for breath.

"What the _fuck_ , Cas?"

"Look, I made be...a _colossal_ idiot. And I might even be in love with you. But I swear, the only thing I want to happen on Saturday is for you to get married."

"Cas—"

"Because Anna deserves this. She deserves to be happy. And so do you. Now I'm sorry that I came into your life and I did what I did because fucking things up is just something I'm good at and I'm sorry. But I make things beautiful, too. Anna came to me with an idea and I just wanted to make that idea _real_. And if you leave her, if you abandon her at that altar, you are _never_ going to forgive yourself and I am _never_ going to be able to live the rest of my life without knowing that, if I could, I would _throttle_ you and throw your body into the bay and not think twice about it. Because if you leave her on Saturday, that is what I will do."

Dean is very quiet and Cas is shaking. A car alarm starts going off outside, but after a while, it just fades into the background. Dean clears his throat.

"You, uh...you love me?"

"I honestly don't know."

"You feel something then."

"I feel a _lot_ of things," Cas says, frustrated. "And I want them all to just go away and leave me be so I can plan this wedding and pretend you were never a part of my life."

"That's what you want?"

"No, but it's for the best." Dean steps closer, a small smile playing over his lips.

"What _do_ you want?"

"Honestly?" Dean nods. "I want _you_. And I don't want you to get married and I want us to live in a different world where this wasn't a problem." Cas looks at his shoes. "But...but mostly, I just don't want to leave behind a mess. _Again_."

"If you could have me—"

"Dean, stop."

"Cas, if you could...if...if I weren't getting married, would you take me?"

"In a heartbeat," Cas murmurs, breathless as Dean steps closer. He's kissing him again, and he knows he shouldn't be, but he figures if it's gone this far, it might as well go a bit further.

"I'll leave Anna, I'll—"

"Dean, you—"

"And we'll go somewhere else, we'll—"

"She loves you, she—"

" _Fuck_ , Cas—" Dean presses him into the desk, tugging at his belt and his pants, shoving things from the desk onto the floor.

And Cas would say something, but there is a part of him that wants to savor the feel of Dean's teeth on his shoulder and the way his presses one, two fingers inside him coated with bad, discount lotion Cas bought at Costco two years ago. He wants to remember the way it all feels and what it does to him as Dean's hips thrust sharply forward and he falls apart beneath him, aware that everything Dean is giving him can not and _will_ not ever belong to him.

The last thing he thinks, as Dean comes and collapses with a groan, is that his mother, of all people, would be obscenely disappointed in him.

  
— — —

  
Friday arrives. Cas is reminded of the calm before the storm, the deadly peace and silence before the violence sets in. Anna is all smiles on Friday, assuring Cas that Dean is out of the planning picture for the last twenty—four hours, as he has office all day and told Anna that it was probably best if he just wasn't around while she and Cas finished up. Cas has to agree.

He doesn't tell Becky what happened, mostly because he's busy planning the rehearsal dinner that he almost forgot about, but had to pretend that he knew was happening the entire time. Anna buys it. It's a small affair, and it marks the first time that Cas actually will get to meet Ruby, something he's wanted to do for a while. Sam comes to the office to help him coordinate things with the caterer for the dinner and tells him that Ruby's had a migraine since she got into town, but it's probably just a side effect of being within a sixty mile radius of Dean.

"They don't get along?"

"Yeah, something like that. Chicken or tilapia?"

"Chicken, but add also check the box next to that tofu thing. Anna's maid of honor is vegan."

"What about steak?"

" _Chicken_ , Sam. You can have you red mean fix tomorrow night."

"Cas." Chuck knocks on the door, looking entirely put out.

"I'm busy."

"Your mother is on the phone."

"Did I hire you yesterday? For the love of God, Chuck, take a fucking message."

"She's buying a plane ticket to San Francisco."

"Put her through."

Cas picks up the phone when it begins flashing, not sure what he's going to say.

"Mother. Whatever you're doing, stop."

"The man you're in love with is getting married on Saturday. I am coming to that God—forsaken city and we are going on a bender to end all benders."

"That is the _worst_ idea I've ever heard."

"Well I already bought my ticket."

" _What?!_ " Sam looks up from the order form.

"I'll be there at noon."

"The wedding is at noon."

"Then I guess you'll have to leave Chuck in charge, won't you?"

"Mother—"

"Castiel. This is not up for discussion. You will be at the airport to pick me up, understand."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow." She hangs up and Cas swears, even the tiny _click_ on the other end sounds smug.

"Everything okay?"

"No, but really, nothing is ever okay, is it?" Sam shrugs and hands over the order form. "You saved me, thank you."

"You coming tonight?"

"Of course."

"Everything alright between you and my brother?"

"Yes, Sam. Everything is fine." Sam nods and Cas knows that _he_ knows that it's a lie, but he keeps moving, because Anna is calling and having a heart attack about the rehearsal and Dean still isn't done and she doesn't care if he fucking shows up in scrubs, he's coming and that's final and if Cas could call him and be polite, but firm, it would appreciated because she's still getting her hair done.

Cas calls Dean and leaves a message that, essentially, reminds him that he is, in fact, getting married and that if he'd like to show up to the rehearsal dinner he knows what where and what it is. And if doesn't, then he can just fucking forget about it.

Thankfully, he shows up. And Anna is good to her word and doesn't even mine that she practices saying "I do," with her fiancé wearing a maroon scrub top with orange bottoms, because that's all he could find that morning.

"When we move into the new place, he's getting an entire dresser for these things," Anna jokes over dinner.

"Remind why you two don't live together again?" Ruby asks, wine glass dangling loosely between her fingers.

"Just something we agreed on," Anna says, bumping Dean's shoulder with hers. After a while, she stands up, steadying herself with a hand on Dean's arm, raising her glass. "Thank you, everyone, for being here. We are _more_ than excited to have you all be a part of a huge moment in our lives tomorrow afternoon. A moment that probably wouldn't be possible without one of the most amazing men I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Other than Dean." Cue appropriate laughter. "Cas, could you wave?" Cas complies. "Castiel has been translating my rantings and ravings for almost two months now, when Dean and I decided to throw this wedding together. Lisa—" Cas had been avoiding her the entire night, but her presence was thrown into the spotlight — "couldn't recommend him enough and I am so, _so_ glad she did. Without him, this just wouldn't have been possible. Thank you, Cas. For everything."

Cas nods and drinks his wine, daring for a moment to meet Dean's gaze. There is a quick wink and then nothing. Ruby nudges him in the side.

"You have to be the bravest man I know to deal with them both at once."

"They're alright."

"Dean and I fight like cats and dogs, but Anna—" She shakes her head. "There's just something about her. I think it's her hair."

"Ruby, stop it," Sam warns, but his heart isn't in it. "Ruby hates redheads."

"Don't trust 'em."

"I'm sure you have your reasons."

"So you're the one who fucked Dean?"

Cas nearly spits out his wine, thankful that most of the table is listening to Anna's father tell an awkward story about horses and cow shit. Or something. Sam grimaces.

"Ruby. I told you—"

"What? I'm just asking."

"It's fine. Yes, I am."

" _Fantastic_. Fan—fucking—tastic."

" _Ruby._ "

"Alright, alright." She leans back in her chair and then against Sam, who pries the wine glass from her hands and kisses the top of her head.

When Anna's father passes out, everyone decides that it's time to go home. Cas hasn't told Anna he won't be there tomorrow. He's not worried about it. Of course, he hasn't told Chuck that he'll be the one taking care of everything, but he's fairly certain that if anyone can take care of Anna's wedding, Chuck can.

"Need a ride? Anna and the girls are staying with Lisa tonight."

"I'll take a cab."

"Cas, _come on_. Let's just talk about this."

"Talk about what?"

"About...about last night."

"We fucked, Dean. Again. What else am I supposed to say?"

"You said you loved me."

"I said I might." Then, "You never said anything like that, so—"

"Cas, don't make me do this."

" _You're_ the one who wants to talk."

"I...fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Cas nods, extending his hand and hailing a cab, turning his back on Dean, looking only once in the cabbie's rearview mirror to see him standing at the curb, defeated and worn. He goes to bed that night, talking to his mother once more the reaffirm that their earlier conversation was not a fever dream, and he dreams about shooting stars again. He dreams about sitting in the yard next to Michael and Gabe and not hitting or teasing or tormenting and just wondering how many wishes you got when all the stars started falling from the sky.

  
— — —

  
Cas has Chuck meet him at the park at eight, just like they always do before a wedding. They go through the checklist, and Chuck makes notes and calls people and yells at the florist and then yells at the baker and then hands the phone over to Cas who yells at the baker some more until the van with the cake arrives at ten. At eleven, he hands over his clipboard and his walkie talkie and Chuck almost vomits.

" _What?_ "

"You're in charge."

"Um, no. No and fucking _no_ , Cas. Your mother can get a _cab_."

"You know that's not happening. I promised."

"So tell her you lied. You lie to me _all the time_."

"Chuck—"

"I can't _do_ this."

"You can."

"No. I can't."

" _Yes_. You can." He presses the clipboard tighter into Chuck's hand. "I know you can. You've watched me do this a million times. If I didn't think you could do this, I'd call Becky."

"That's... _Cas_. Please. You don't have to see Dean, okay? I'll—"

"This isn't about Dean."

"Then what is it about?"

"It's about me promising my psychotic mother that I would pick her up at the airport and following through on that promise." He sighs. "And it's a little about Dean. Just... _please_ , Chuck. Do this for me and you will get a raise and a _half_ , alright?" Chuck swallows, looks at the clipboard, and then back at Cas. He nods. "Thank you. I owe you. A lot."

"You bet your fucking ass you do."

Cas grips Chuck's arm for a moment and the leaves him, deciding it best not to look back. He doesn't need to be there for the wedding. He doesn't need to see Dean say yes because, even though he wants that to happen, that want lives in constant conflict with everything else he seems to want lately, those wants mainly consisting of just _Dean_. He hails a cab for the airport and rests his head against the window, falling into a light sleep where he doesn't dream of anything.

  
— — —

  
While Cas is in a cab headed toward the airport, Anna is standing in a room alone, staring at a painting on the wall. It's an ugly painting, but it's real, and when she reaches out to touch it, she can almost feel the weight of the heavy brush strokes it took to bring the picture together. The paint is thick under her fingers, the colors rich to her eyes. It's an oil painting of a house in the middle of a field, and she can't stand it, but she is in love with what it's made of.

"Hey gorgeous." She wheels around.

" _Dean._ You can't be here."

"I know." He shuts the door and locks it behind him, walking slowly toward her and taking her hands in his. "You look fantastic."

"Well I'm glad you think so. But it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

"Anna, I don't think I could get any more bad luck that I already have."

"Dean...what's wrong." He leans forward and kisses her, slowly and carefully, almost methodically, like he's trying to figure her out. "Dean—"

"Anna, we need to talk."

"Dean, no. No, you are not pulling this _shit_ on me on our _wedding_ day, okay? So—so just _go_ back out there, okay?"

"Anna, _listen_ to me! What are we doing? Why are we doing this? Why are you marrying me?"

"You _asked_ me! You asked and I—"

"You said yes. _Why?_ Why did you say yes?"

"Because I loved you," she snaps.

"I know. Because you loved me." He brushes a piece of hair from her face. "But you don't love me anymore, do you?"

"I—" She freezes, mouth open in protest. "I love you," she says, but the words sound weak even to her. "I...I do. Don't you? Don't you love me?"

"Anna, I have loved you since you walked into that pathetic excuse of a diner I was working in and turned everything upside down. You have been the most important woman in my life since I was twenty—four years old."

"It...it's been that long."

"Yeah. Yeah, it has."

"Oh my _God_ ," she murmurs. "I'm _thirty_. _You're_ thirty—five. Dean, we've been....we've been doing this for eleven years. I mean, it hasn't...it hasn't been _perfect_ , or anything. Not at all. But...but I always go back to you. Always. You're so...

"Usual?"

"Comfortable," Anna says, and figures that she might as well and sits on the ground in a small explosion of white fabric. Dean sits across from her, holding her hands tight in his. "When things went to hell, you were always so safe."

"It was always the same."

"It felt good."

"It _still_ feels good. And if that's what you want, then that's okay! We can be happy, I know it. I just...you are the most amazing woman I have ever met. You are smart and shrewd and deserving of all the love in the world. If anyone _doesn't_ deserve to be loveless, it's you. And it's not that I don't love you in some way. I just...I don't love you the way you _should_ be loved. Baby, don't cry."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"So are you," she laughs, and Dean realizes he is. "Who did you meet?" she says quietly. She's suspected for a while and it's not like it doesn't hurt worse than anything else Dean has ever done to her over the years, it's just there's a small part of her wouldn't mind if she could chalk it all up to that. To some torrid affair that ended her marriage before it had even begun.

"Anna—"

"Did you meet someone, Dean?" He nods. "Tell me. Please. Don't sit here and tell me you can only love me one way when there's someone out there who already has every bit of your heart that I used to have. You owe me this." He stares at her hands, rubbing his thumbs across the tops of them.

"Would you believe me if I told you it was our wedding planner?"

Anna stares for a moment, watching his face to see if it's some kind of joke. When she realizes it's not, she starts to laugh. Her entire body shakes with it and she thinks she might not ever be able to stop. Because it's all too fucking strange and weird and _perfect_ , in it's only little way. Of course her fucking _wedding planner_ would be the one to steal her fiancé. Of _course_. It's the only thing that makes sense, really. Cas is the only one, she thinks. The _only_ one.

"When he walked in front of that cab."

"The idiot had his hooks in me from the beginning."

"Do you love him?"

"I think so."

" _Jesus_ ," she breathes, closing her eyes and leaning forward, pressing her forehead to Dean's chest. "Story of my fucking life, I guess."

"Anna, I—"

"Dean. I know you're sorry. I know that. And I am, too. But that doesn't really change much."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean all the people downstairs waiting for us to walk down that aisle."

"Anna, if that's what you want—"

"Dean. I don't want to marry you. I don't. I want to go South America, is what I want to do." Dean raises an eyebrow. "What I mean is that I want to _live_. I want to go on our honeymoon and I don't really want to come back for a long fucking time. I want to learn another language and I want to bike around Italy and hike mountains and _God_ , I just want to do something with myself, you know?"

"I do."

"I love you, too, I guess. In the same way you love me. But I don't think I can marry you." Dean sighs and Anna curls the upper part of her body into his lap, his body warm and familiar, just like it always has been.

"So. What do we do now?"

  
— — —

  
While Cas is scowling at the incoming flight list and the notice next to his mother's own flight number that keeps flashing _delayed_ , Chuck is frantically searching for the bride and groom, who seem to have vanished. When one of the caterers points to a white dot on the edge of the park getting into a taxi cab, he books it for curb, watching with anguish as Dean shuts the door to a cab and waves goodbye.

"Did you just put the bride in a cab?"

"Mmhm?"

" _Why?_ "

"Today just isn't our day."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure it's been 'your day' for like two fucking months now. _Fuck._ Cas is going to kill me when he gets back."

"Cas. He's not here?"

"No you dumbass. And if you hadn't been shoving your fiancé into a taxi cab, you might have picked up on that little fact."

"Where is he?"

"He went to pick up his mom at the airport, okay? Because he promised or whatever. I don't know they have a special bond or something it's weird and it might be Oedipal but I don't ask those questions because he's my boss."

"Okay, I'm going to ignore _half_ of that and ask you when her flight gets in."

"Noon."

"Great." And then Dean takes off running down the sidewalk, yelling for a taxi.

"Okay then! I'll just let everyone know that you're not getting married today! It's not a big deal!" He's shaking when he calls Becky to come and help. And because she's always been braver than him, always been an unstoppable force of pure will and drive, she comes, hauling herself out of her tiny car and calming him down with quiet kisses and promises that it will all work out. And Chuck believes her. He desperately _wants_ to believe that she's not just talking about the wedding, but about Dean finding Cas, too. Because he knows she'd really like to be right about that.

  
— — —

  
At 12:36, Dean arrives at the airport, wondering if every decision he's made in the past hour is either going to be worth it all, or backfire and blow up in his face. He looks like a fucking idiot running through the airport in a tuxedo, muttering Cas's name and trying to figure out where he might be. Of course he has no idea where Cas's mother is from, or where she'll be or what gate, but he has to give a silent thanks to the steel—like quality of airport security the minute he sees that ugly—ass trench coat that you could only wear in the middle of the summer in San Francisco. He sees that familiar, uptight way that Cas stands and nearly chokes on his own happiness.

"Cas!"

And then the idiot turns around, face wearing the expression of someone who is about to do something they might really, _really_ regret. And Dean is so fucking _happy_ to see him that he grabs him and kisses that expression right off of his face.

Cas starts a little, sorting through the thoughts in his head, half of which are exploding with joy, the other wondering how many ways he could tear Dean Winchester into a million fucking pieces.

But he goes with it, because for once he feels like he just has to trust someone long enough to hear what they have to say — to _really_ say. And he grips Dean's face in his hands and kisses back with renewed fervor, thanking whatever God for small miracles and laughing the whole time.

"I will _murder_ you, I swear—"

"The wedding's off."

" _Obviously._ Where's Anna?"

"Home. Packing. She's going to Chile, I think. Or Italy. Or Russia. Fuck, I don't know. She's going backpacking and bike riding and she's going to ride horses on the beach and make love to strangers and just live her fucking life, you know? I don't know, that's what she told me."

"And...and that's it? That's—"

Cas. I think I might be in love with you. And I'm not entirely sure what that means for me right now, but I do know that I'm thirty—five and I want to be with someone _because_ I love them, not because I'm used to them. Or because they're comfortable, okay? I mean, I am so uncomfortable around you it's not even funny. You make me want to tear every hair in my head out, you know? And that's okay. I _want_ that. I _want_ something else. I want _you._ "

Cas nods, again and again, kissing him again and wondering why it took him this fucking long to find someone worth throwing every last inhibition out the window for.

"You will _hate_ me. I swear, you will. I'm obsessive compulsive to a sickening degree and I watch C—SPAN."

"I hate C—SPAN. I hate it so fucking much."

"Well I watch it. And I'm not going to stop."

"Don't change. _Never_ change, okay? Just don't."

"I won't." And they're kissing again, like maybe it's all just been one big joke. And when Cas's mother finally gets there, she's laughing and holding them both and smacking Dean on the back of the head and wondering who's going to buy her a fucking drink because those bottles on the plane are a joke.

And they're in the cab when Cas remembers that he left Chuck in charge. " _Shit._ " he mutters. "We have to go to the park. Chuck's going to be a wreck. He's—"

"Hey," Dean says. "He's going to be fine." Leaning back, he smiles, placing his hands on the back of his head and grinning. "Let's bring the drinks to him, yeah?"

And Cas is so completely and utterly _wrecked_ by this man that he kisses with zero inhibition while his mother naps in the front seat of the cab, tongue heavy with all the words he wants to say, all the questions and doubts that he knows he will have, but will be unafraid to speak. They press their foreheads together and stay quiet and still for a long time. Cas thinks that, maybe, that's how the rest of his life will be, if he has Dean. Quiet and perfect and still. And he won't kid himself into thinking that everything is about to change and that things will go up and down and that he'll want to break things and take it all back —

but for now, things can be that way. Quiet, and still.

  
**Epilogue**   


In July, Becky had her baby. And even though Chuck had insisted on painting the nursery blue and Cas's mother held a quarter tied to a hemp string over her belly and proclaimed it would be a boy, Becky had a girl and Chuck wasn't even angry about it. Cas watched him hold the squirming bundle in his arms and cry. He watched Dean and his mother each take their turn and when it came to him, she gripped one of his fingers and squeeze and cried until the nurse handed her back to her mother. Becky whispered to her and she grew very quiet.

"Anna wanted, like, a different number of kids every year," Dean said one day as they left the hospital. "Like, for eleven years we danced around and dated and didn't date and did whatever. And she could never pick. Even when we were engaged. She couldn't decide."

"I like kids."

"You?"

"I always have."

"Great. We'll get a dog."

"Let's get dinner instead."

"I like that plan."

They stopped at Crowley's. And even though he told Cas he wouldn't give him a discount, he gave them the wine for free anyway, winking at Dean the entire time.

In the fall, they went back East for Marie's birthday. She let Gabriel plan it and the pasta salad was terrible, but everyone agreed that the steak was delicious. Sam was invited and Ruby was pleasant enough that even Marie liked her, a friendship which Dean did not approve of.

Anna sent postcards, but it was a long time before they saw her again. When she did get home, she held Cas for a long time and told him that if he didn't take care of Dean, she'd take care of him. Dean had to wonder why every person he fell in love with was secretly homicidal.

In the end, Becky and Chuck named the girl Hope. And when she was ready to go home, Dean and Cas drove the little family to the outside of the city. They split a bottle of wine while Hope dozed in Becky's arms and Chuck read his manuscript, which turned out to not be about Cas at all, but Chuck's indelible and unshakable belief in love.

And if ever there was a happy ending that Cas was happy to be a part of, it was this one, sitting under the blanket of midnight, watching Dean uncork another bottle of wine and Becky kiss Chuck long and slow as the sky started falling, a shower of stars that Cas silently pretended was made just for them.


End file.
